


Moirai

by brightblackbird



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: Canon - Anime, Character Study, Family, Gen, Pre-Canon, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 00:55:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3509138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightblackbird/pseuds/brightblackbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spinning, measuring, cutting. Three moments in the life of Stoffel von Spitzweg. Pre-series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Klotho

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2009.

He was distinctly aware of the moment he ceased to be the center of the world. It was a warm spring day and the servant who was helping him with his shoes had dashed out of the room after another servant peeked in to give them the news. A new baby girl.

His legs still extended off the bed, one untied shoe dangling off forlornly. He fumbled with the laces for a moment, then stopped, disgusted. It was Hans’s job to help him with his shoes. He was hardly old enough to be tying them himself. He knew because his father had said so when Hans complained.

But he _was_ old enough not to cry. Father had said that, too, when he broke his toy sword. Mother was more sympathetic, but even in front of her he did his best to be a man. Usually he did very well.

He lasted about ten minutes before tears started to prick at his eyes. Hans had gone away and left him and he didn’t even have his shoes on. Probably they’d all gone away to see if he would cry, and he was failing the test, and Father would look at him disapprovingly and say, _No, there must another little boy to give this castle to when he grows up_.

How dare Hans go away and leave him with thoughts like this? If he cried it would be all Hans’s fault, not his.

But he wouldn’t cry! He set his lip and tried to think of other, happier things. His own horse, a real sword, lessons—all the things you had to have to be a real grown-up man. And they were all coming to him, if only he could prove to Father he deserved them. That meant no crying, even if everyone had gone away and left him without his shoes on because they had to see the stupid new baby.

He flopped onto his back in a very un-lordlike fashion and gazed at the ceiling, lower lip trembling. It was a plain stone ceiling, but the stones were unevenly sized, and sometimes he amused himself by trying to count them, or by making shapes out of them like constellations. By the time he’d found a dragon the thickness had gone from his throat and he was starting to feel better. A baby couldn’t find a dragon in the ceiling. A baby didn’t even know what a dragon was.

Hans burst back in just as he was wondering whether a baby knew what a ceiling was.

“Master Stoffel, here you are! Come with me.”

“Tie my shoes on first.”

Hans sighed, but he obeyed. Stoffel made sure to kick his feet around and make it especially difficult.

“Your new sister wants to meet you,” Hans explained, leading him down the hall. Stoffel stuck his tongue out at Hans behind his back. He wasn’t stupid. A baby couldn’t want to meet him. It was Mother and Father who wanted him to see the baby.

The baby was asleep by the time they got there.

“Come back later,” said Father. “We don’t want to wake her.” What he meant was, _We don’t want_ you _to wake her, Stoffel. Everyone knows you don’t know how to be quiet_. Well, he did. And no one ever cared if he wanted to keep sleeping in the morning.

It was several days before he was again led down the corridor to Mother and Father’s room. During that time he conceived a healthy dislike for the new arrival. Everyone was rushing around to do things for it: preparing announcements to send to the other nobles, making special meals for Mother so she would nurse better—she refused a wet nurse this time around—and most of all talking about how wonderful it was.

“She’s so good-tempered,” they marveled. “She hardly cries at all. And such lovely blue eyes!”

“They may change, you know,” said the cook. “Her father has green eyes.” Stoffel checked the mirror later, but his eyes were still blue.

He wasn’t allowed to see Mother at all; she couldn’t leave her room. Father spent most of his time in there too, and the servants were all busy, so there was no one to play with him or find him his toys as he moved through the castle scattering them through the rooms.

He didn’t like this new baby one bit.

 

* * *

 

“Young master, your trousers are on backwards,” was the first thing Hans said to him.

“I had to dress myself,” he said, trying to accuse Hans with his voice the way Father did when he didn’t want to name names.

Hans smiled. “Well, practice makes perfect. You’re old enough to do some things for yourself now that you’re a brother.”

He definitely hated this new baby.

But Mother and Father were Requesting His Presence, so he had to go and visit it. After he had turned his trousers the right way round they set off again down the hall.

Mother was lying in bed, looking weak but happy. He climbed up on the bed and kissed her hello.

“Master Stoffel, you mustn’t climb on the bed,” Hans said anxiously.

“Oh, let him,” his father said. “It’s a special occasion.” So the baby was good for something after all. “Now, Stoffel, come here and meet your little sister.”

Father lifted something out of a giant crib that was by the window. Stoffel hoped he might drop it out, but he didn’t.

“We’re calling her Cecilie,” Mother said.

“Come here, Stoffel.” He went. It was never good to disobey Father.

The baby was small and red. It did have blue eyes, the shade as his own. It also had a full head of fine blond hair, which surprised him; he’d thought babies were born bald.

Father stooped a little so Stoffel and the baby were face to face. He thought it was undignified for a man like Father to stoop, but he held his tongue.

The baby smiled at him. Forgetting his dislike for a moment, he reached out to poke it, and it grabbed his finger with a firm grip, just like a real person.

“You see?” Father said. “They’re getting along already.”

“We are not,” Stoffel insisted, pulling his hand back. To prove it he made a face. The baby laughed happily.

“Her first laugh!” Mother exclaimed from the bed.

“You have a way with her, Stoffel,” said Father, smiling, and he couldn’t help feeling a little proud. “Why don’t you try holding her?”

“Be careful,” Mother warned.

“Oh, he’s twenty-six,” Father said. “He can manage it.” Stoffel didn’t particularly want to manage it, but he held his arms out awkwardly and Father carefully lowered the baby into them.

Hans knelt beside him. “Be careful, young master.”

“I _know_ ,” said Stoffel, trying to pull the baby away.

But the sudden movement must have upset her stomach, for she spit up, somehow managing to do it all over Hans’s front.

“Oh, dear,” said Father, trying to hide a smile, while Hans merely looked dumbfounded.

Stoffel laughed. The baby giggled, her sickness immediately forgotten.

“‘Cecilie’,” he said, trying the name out. “Come with me, Celi. Let’s go visit Mother.”


	2. Lakhesis

 It was a rainy day in early spring and their tutor was late.

“I hope he doesn’t come at all,” said Lady Celi.

“Celi,” said Lord Stoffel, “that’s an awful thing to wish. Sigfried works very hard to teach us, and it’s important to…”

“Oh, you don’t like lessons either and you know it!”

Unable to deny the charges, Lord Stoffel looked helplessly over at Raven, who was shading the mountains on his rendition of the map of Shin Makoku.

Raven said nothing. He was hardly of low birth, but still it was a privilege to take his lessons with the son and daughter of his Lordship. Therefore he did his best to devote himself to his education, and he suspected that it was for this reason that he was the only one of the three to enjoy it. Lord Stoffel was motivated more by propriety than by any love of learning, and Lady Celi was…well, she was young. There was no answer he could give that would satisfy both of them.

He was saved by Master Sigfried’s arrival. The old man was out of breath, and as he stepped through the door his books, piled high in his arms, knocked against the doorframe and fell heavily to the ground. Raven and Lady Celi both hurried to his side.

“Celi,” said Lord Stoffel, “let Raven do it.” She reluctantly returned to her desk, leaving Raven to help Master Sigfried carry his multitudinous books and maps to the desk at the front of the room.

“Thank you, m’boy,” Master Sigfried said, depositing the stack on the desk with one final wheeze. Raven returned to his desk.

“Sigfried,” said Lady Celi, “whatever have you been doing?” Raven suspected she asked not out of interest, but as a way of delaying the inevitable lessons. Lord Stoffel clearly thought the same, for he gave her a look, which she ignored.

“Well, milady,” Master Sigfried said, mopping his brow with an enormous handkerchief, “it seems your father wants my assistance in dealing with—” He stopped suddenly. “Er, well, it’s of no importance. Raven,” he added, “do you know what _is_ important?”

“Er…no, sir.”

“The reign of the Thirteenth Maou!” He clapped his hands together, clearly delighted with himself. “Now, this particular reign was marked by…”

* * *

“I’ll bet it’s the you-know-what,” said Lady Celi, when they had gone outside after lessons. “I heard the servants talking about it.”

“No, I _don’t_ know what,” said Lord Stoffel, a bit crossly, “because I don’t spend my time eavesdropping on the servants.”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping, I was listening,” Lady Celi said indignantly. “There’s a difference. But anyway, there’s a great big _something_ out in back of the castle, and everyone’s very worried.”

“But what is it?” Lord Stoffel demanded, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Well,” said Lady Celi, “they didn’t say. They just called it the you-know-what.”

“Then there’s no point in bringing it up, if you don’t even know what it is!”

Raven broke in, hoping to forestall a fight. “If they’re asking for Master Sigfried’s help, it’s probably a dragon. He’s an expert on them.”

They both turned to look at him with wide eyes.

“A dragon?” Lady Celi whispered. “A real live one?” Raven saw what was coming too late. He could have kicked himself. “Brother, let’s go see it!”

“You really shouldn’t,” Raven insisted. “You’d be putting yourself in a great deal of danger.”

“Raven’s right, Celi. If anyone found out…”

“But you could handle a dragon, couldn’t you, brother?” There was a wheedling tone in her voice. “You’re so good with fire magic, any dragon would just run away!”

Raven could see Lord Stoffel weakening, but he pulled himself together. “No,” he said decisively, “we shouldn’t.”

Lady Celi pouted, but she said no more. The rest of the day went by as usual, and Raven allowed himself to think the matter closed.

He had difficulty sleeping that night, and as he lay awake he found himself wondering just how powerful an appeal to Lord Stoffel’s pride might be.

* * *

When he woke in the morning to find no sign of them, he wasted no time wondering what to do. He collected his sword and set out into the wooded area behind the castle.

It was easy enough to follow them. Lord Stoffel’s sword made quick work of the smaller branches in their way, and they were clearly unconcerned with hiding their tracks. At one point Lord Stoffel had amused himself by drawing a crude dragon in the dirt with the point of his sword. Raven winced, seeing in his mind’s eye all manner of small stones and thick roots lying in wait to scratch the weapon’s smooth shine. Beside the dragon was a more neatly drawn figure with curls in its hair, waving up at anyone who might see it. She had given herself high heels, he saw, and he smiled a bit as he moved on, leaving the markings in the dirt as a landmark for the trip back.

After about an hour he was beginning to wonder whether he should have told an adult before setting out. At the time he hadn’t even considered it; Lord Stoffel and Lady Celi would have been furious. But what if there really was a dragon out here? The deep dark of the wood made the possibility seem much more real than the sun-bleached stones of their usual haunts. But with all these trees around, surely one would hear such a large animal long before it got close enough to do any harm. Unless, of course, one _wanted_ to see it…

He started to walk faster.

* * *

 He did hear the dragon before he saw it. The crashing trees up ahead alerted him first, and when it roared he was sure. It was like no other creature he’d ever heard; a long guttural noise with both low and high pitch sounding simultaneously.

There was another noise after it, muffled by the trees but still identifiable.

It was a scream. He was running before he knew it.

There was more light filtering through the trees in front of him, and as he ran he began to see that the trees after a certain point were gone. He broke through the last patch of forest and found himself in a large clearing, with its creator directly in front of him. It was smaller than he’d expected, but the splintered trees around it attested to its strength.

The creature hissed and moved forward, tree trunks snapping beneath its feet. Its eyes were fixed on the ground in front of it. Following its gaze, Raven saw the two small figures that had attracted its attention. Lord Stoffel had his sword out, but he was holding it with both hands, and as Raven watched it dipped slightly, as if holding it up were difficult. Lady Celi was clinging to him, trying to drag him back without success.

“Celi, get away!”

“I won’t go without you!”

“I can hold it off if you’ll just _go_!” As he spoke, Lord Stoffel dropped his sword and half pushed, half elbowed her from his side. She fell awkwardly behind him, and he knelt, holding his hand up and muttering the incantation for a burst of fire magic.

The fireball was a weak one, but even at full strength it wouldn’t have done much. The dragon drew back, though, more from the light than from pain, and Raven saw his chance.

He jumped and landed between them and the dragon, making a painful three-point landing on his knees and left hand.

“Raven!”

“Stay back, your Excellencies!”

Though he’d jumped, he had no real idea of what he was going to do; up close like this, he saw, as Lord Stoffel must have, that there was no hope of fighting the thing off with a sword. He had no magical ability, and even if he had, he would be no further along in his studies than Lord Stoffel, whose attempt had failed.

The dragon was advancing slowly; it hissed again and he could feel its hot breath even from such a distance. His knees were shaking, but he held his sword up as if the sight of it might keep the dragon from getting closer.

Lord Stoffel was at his side suddenly.

“You’d better take Celi,” he said. “I can probably blind it for a while.”

“If anyone runs,” said Raven, “it should be you two. I can hold it off longer.” For he saw now that Lord Stoffel’s arm was bleeding. That was the reason his aim had been off; it was probably fairly painful, though the cut didn’t seem deep.

Lord Stoffel took a deep breath. “Raven,” he said in the most imposing voice he could muster, “I order you to get my sister out of this situation.”

“My apologies, sir,” Raven said grimly, shifting his grip on the sword, though he knew it would do him no good. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

What Lord Stoffel said next he didn’t hear, for as he drew his sword back to attack, the dragon took another step, and, scanning it up and down for a weak point, he saw that the foot furthest in front was sinking into the earth far more than the others.

The underground cavern where they sometimes played had been hollowed out before Shinou’s time by some long-gone river. Had its waters extended this far? There was no other option available to them.

Turning, he dropped his sword and ran for Lady Celi, nearly tripping over his own feet as he did so. She was standing now, but as he grabbed her hand and pulled her forward she lost her balance again. With no time to waste, he dragged her stumbling back to where his sword lay and they both crashed to the ground beside Lord Stoffel, who was gaping at them.

“Raven, what on earth—”

“Your Excellency,” he said—the dragon was still a few strides from them—“some earth magic, now!”

For a moment he thought Lord Stoffel might strike him instead; Lady Celi was sniffling with a pair of skinned knees, and moreover he had brought her within range of the dragon. But the moment passed, and a ball of dark light started to gather in Lord Stoffel’s hand.

The tremors began in a moment, and like the dragon they were smaller than he had expected. If he was wrong…

Lord Stoffel was more accustomed to fire magic, and his face was pale from the effort, but the tremors continued, just barely distinguishable from the dragon’s slow footfalls. In a few moments the earth began to rumble in earnest. However, the dragon had reached them by now; Raven closed his eyes as it lifted one massive foreleg and swiped at them; he clutched Lady Celi, though he knew it was useless to try and shield her.

One of the tremors seemed to pass through his entire body. An instant later his bones shook from the force of impact—but the pain was less than he had expected, and he felt it through his whole body. Still unable to breathe, he opened his eyes without thinking and saw only earth in front of him.

They had hit the ground just as the dragon had swiped the air over their heads, it seemed, for the creature let out a roar up above them. Looking up, he saw its scaled eyes peering down at them. If it decided to follow them, or if the tremors continued and brought it down against its will, he would have succeeded only in delaying death, for there was nowhere to run now. Even if there had been, his companions were still stunned from the fall.

The dragon regarded them. Lord Stoffel began to stir, and Raven saw he had cut himself again, this time on his sword as they fell. He kept quiet and hoped they would both do the same.

A few moments passed—or was it minutes?—and at last the dragon disappeared from the crevice overhead, apparently deciding they weren’t worth the trouble. Then he dared to move a little, getting himself into a more comfortable position. It would be a long wait.

It was nearly an hour before they could no longer hear the dragon’s footsteps and trees crashing around it as it moved. He tore off a shred of his shirt and they managed to bandage Lord Stoffel’s arm, which by now had nearly stopped bleeding anyway. A few lighter bursts of earth magic produced some stair-like notches in the wall, and they clambered out into the daylight.

Lord Stoffel was breathing heavily from the unaccustomed magic, and “Thank you, Raven,” was all he said. Lady Celi was more demonstrative; she hugged him fiercely, and her brother was for once too exhausted to admonish her about propriety.

* * *

There was a sizable welcoming party waiting for them when they got back. They were inspected for wounds and then sentenced to a month of confinement within the castle. Raven had assumed he would be thrashed, but perhaps Lord Stoffel and Lady Celi had put in a word for him, for there was no physical punishment.

The dragon was wounded, he learned later; that explained its slow movement and reluctance to chase them. Master Sigfried presumably took care of the matter and had it transported to safer grounds, but no further information was volunteered, and even Lady Celi didn’t dare bring it up.

After their imprisonment had expired, Lady Celi caught up with him in the hall one day and beckoned him aside with a mysterious look on her face.

“Raven,” she said, very seriously, “you must promise me you’ll look after my brother from now on.”

“I thought I was doing that already?” There was more freedom to joke when it was just the two of them.

“I mean it!” But she laughed a little. “He’s not as grown up as he thinks he is.”

“I will do my best, milady,” he promised, sweeping an imaginary cape out in a low bow that made her laugh again.

It wasn’t long after that that Lord Stoffel also caught up with him and pulled him aside. There was no joking this time, however.

“First of all,” Lord Stoffel began stiffly, “I wish to apologize for the…incident a month ago.”

“It’s forgotten,” Raven assured him. He seemed to relax a little.

“Nevertheless, I wish to thank you for your assistance in the matter. Also…” He stopped, then began again. “Also, I would like to ask you to promise me something.”

Raven nodded.

“Regarding Celi… I want you to promise me you’ll protect her in the future. It worked out this time, but if something else were to arise…” He was trying hard to sound older than his sixty-three years, and he nearly succeeded, but the words came too slowly to seem natural. Indeed, he seemed unable to give voice at all to the rest of his sentence. “If something else were to arise…”

Raven cut in to spare him the embarrassment. “I give my word I will protect Lady Celi in such a circumstance, my lord.”

Lord Stoffel looked relieved. “Well then…that will be all.”

Raven of course had no intention of abandoning Lord Stoffel to his fate should “such a circumstance” arise. He would have to deal with things as they arose, but no matter what happened there was no question of leaving either of the other two behind.

Still, it was a relief to see Lord Stoffel once again playing the role of older brother; he sometimes thought his Lordship was a bit too inclined towards fancying himself the little lord of the castle. From time to time in their play he had the uncomfortable feeling that Lord Stoffel had left them both behind in his imaginings, gone on some flight of fantasy far into the future, where he governed not the gardens and pavilions, but far-ranging lands and castles, and where he had at his back not their imaginary playfellows, but legions of flesh and blood, in uncounted numbers.

Lady Celi sensed these moments too, often before he did, and she would tug nervously at his sleeve for him to rouse her brother back to the world of the living. It was nothing definite, merely a feeling that came over things, as if they were being looked through, or worse still, imagined as better, more useful versions of themselves; but it had grown only more frequent as they grew older, and he knew that someday his playmate and friend would be no longer the young lord, but Lord Stoffel von Spitzweg of the Ten Nobles, and then the lands and the legions at his back would be real.

But such days were far off. There were years and years ahead to see what would happen, he told himself, to watch and be wary for his Lordship’s drifting. Remaining where he stood, he listened to the fading echo of Lord Stoffel’s boots sounding down the long, empty hall.


	3. Atropos

The day after Conrart left, she sat in her room for a very long time with her head in her hands, feeling, she told herself, only what she had earned sending away so many sons to the same fate. The other residents of the castle understood how little there was to be said. Gwendal had muttered a few words before locking himself in his office, and Anissina and Gunter stood silent in the throne room as she wept, leaving her only when they were at last called away by other duties. She hadn’t seen Wolfram in two days.

Only her brother would be foolish enough to approach her at a time like this, and sure enough, he entered the room as the maids were quietly wheeling out her uneaten lunch. They pointedly cut a wide path around him as they left, but he seemed not to notice.

“You’re wasting food, Celi,” he said, with a look behind him to make sure he was heard. “Our friends in the kitchens worked hard to make that, you know.” The door slammed in response. He turned back to her, frowning. “They’re getting sloppy about noise lately. I’ll have to have Raven speak to them about it.”

“Brother,” she said, and her voice didn’t shake at all. She was long since out of tears. “Tell me we’re doing the right thing.”

He looked perturbed. “I don’t have the time for this, Celi. There’s work to be done and I haven’t seen you all day.”

“This war,” she repeated, louder this time. “Tell me we have a reason for all these deaths. Tell me there was no other choice.”  
“Of course there was no other choice. We can’t just let them do whatever they please on our borders. Our pride as mazoku demands—”

“Your pride? We’re fighting this war for your pride _?_ ”

“ _Our_ pride, I said. All of ours; this family’s, this nation’s—” He checked himself suddenly. “I don’t know how you got me into the argument, Celi, but rest assured I have no interest in finishing it. I have work to do today.”

“Raven has work to do, you mean.” It was childish, but she didn’t regret it.

“I believe we’re done here,” he said coldly. “When you feel like having a rational conversation, do let me know.” His cape swished as he turned towards the door, and it struck her all at once how immaculate he was, beard neatly trimmed and boots shining as if this were any ordinary day.

She was on her feet before she knew it. “Stoffel, my son left yesterday for the most dangerous part of the border. Conrart, your nephew. Please tell me you feel something.”

He had turned in surprise at the use of his name, and now as she reached him he drew back uncomfortably.

“It was his decision to volunteer,” he said stiffly. “I see no reason to regret the choices he makes of his own free will.”

“You know why he was forced to volunteer them! Don’t tell me you believe he’s a traitor.”

“Certainly not!” he snapped. “You make it sound as if I want my own nephew dead.”

“No, that would hardly be proper, would it?”

He seemed about to react to that, but then he went on: “If anything, I admire his decision to defend the family name.”

“His name,” she said weakly. “You think he did it for his name, and not for himself and his friends?”

“And do you think he did it without a thought that his mother, his brothers might be tarred with the same brush before long?”

Her response seemed to stick in her throat as she gazed at him dumbly. “That’s not true. You know that’s not true. How can you think anyone would believe that of us?”

“They’d believe it of you the same way they believe it of him. Lord Gegenhuber suggested the possibility of divided sympathies and every half-human in the country was instantly guilty. Do you really think it would stop there?”

“He ‘suggested’ more than that and you know it.” But there was clearly nothing to be gained by arguing with him. “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?” The words felt heavy, less like the question she had intended and more like an admission of her own foolishness.

He was smiling now, satisfied that he had won. She couldn’t take that smile now, not at a time like this. She took hold of the front of his shirt and stared up at him, desperate for some kind of emotion. “Conrart is going to die out there. Do you care about that one bit?”

He flinched, and for an instant his eyes darted to the side, unable to meet hers. She let go. “You do care.” But the relief didn’t last long. “Then how can you let him go? You could have stopped him.”

He was smoothing down his uniform, still not looking at her. Her words hung in the air for a minute, then two. At last he spoke.

“I couldn’t have stopped him. He’s too much like you. He has a confidence that I—” He stopped, then looked at her again with one of his false smiles. “Besides, I know how much stock the boy puts in my word. I’m hardly his favorite uncle.” He was back to his usual self.

“But this whole war… Why any of it? How can your pride be so much more important than all these men and their families?”

“I hope you’re not suggesting that I don’t understand the feeling of loss. I simply happen to hold my country as a higher priority than my own feelings.”

He was halfway to the door before she could speak. The numbness was gone, and all the anger she had felt since the news first came had returned in full force.

“I hope you’re not referring to the throne,” she said, still almost breathless with rage. “I know that not becoming Maou got more emotion out of you than anything else in nearly two hundred years of existence, but _rest assured_ that that was nothing compared to what I feel knowing that my son has gone off to die in this war I let you start on my behalf.”

He paused, a hand on the doorknob. “I do know that,” he said without turning. “You have always been much better at feeling than I have. That boy—Conrart—takes after you there.” He was silent for a moment. “I’m sure I don’t care as much as an uncle ought to, but believe me, I would have stopped him if I could. Even I can see it in a man’s eyes when he loves something enough to die for it, and a man like me can’t stand up against that.”

She wasn’t out of tears after all. “And all the other men we’ve sent off—what did they love enough to die for? How many mothers do you think have felt what I’m feeling now?”

“You really shouldn’t have been the Maou, Celi. You weren’t made for these kinds of times. You’re too used to being loved.” He laughed, but for once he wasn’t trying to pretend any kind of amusement. “Don’t you think you’re lucky to have a big brother around to take on all the responsibility? That’s what men like me are for, you know. They may hate me while I’m alive, but in five hundred years I’ll be the man who saved Shin Makoku. And this I _do_ know, so don’t try to argue with me here.”

“Oh, brother, it’s not _about_ what they think of us! Don’t you understand?”

He was silent for another few moments. “I won’t pretend to,” he said at last. “I told you I haven’t been blessed with that depth of feeling. The most I can say is that I’ve brought a lot on you, but you don’t need to worry that I’ll try to stick you with the blame.” He started to open the door, then turned to look at her. “I didn’t intend for Conrart to get swept up in this, I promise you that. If this is the last straw… I could always count on you and Raven at least, but perhaps I’ve relied on that too much. At any rate, the kingdom shouldn’t learn of any kind of split between the Maou and the regent, so I must ask that you conceal any—”

She sighed. “I could never hate you, brother, no matter how much I sometimes think I should.”

He didn’t seem sure how to respond; she could almost see him working to block out the second half of the sentence until a look of relief came across his face.

“Well then,” he said, with something of his normal demeanor returning. “I’ll be leaving now. I, er, I suppose the day’s work can wait until you feel prepared.” He exited hastily, opening the door a second time after shutting his cape in it.

She ate dinner that night and slept briefly. The next day she returned to her duties, and a few months later she wept again when she was the only mother to see her son return alive from Luttenburg. Stoffel seemed to consider the matter ended there. It was true that she could never be angry for long, but somehow until the war was over she could never stop crying for long, either.


End file.
